


Golden-Haired Boy

by Janissa11



Category: The Big Valley
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-22
Updated: 2009-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 14:03:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janissa11/pseuds/Janissa11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some folk practiced an old kind of witchcraft up in the hills.  Maybe Heath's mother had been one of those.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden-Haired Boy

Had bigger fish to fry, no doubt about that. With the railroad tussle, the running of the ranch, no time to even think about much else. No time for boys waltzing in with smiles so glib butter wouldn't melt in their mouth, and outlandish stories so thin you could read the paper through them.

No, the boy was a flash in the pan, while the rest of it was here to stay. Might have turned back Crown's men for the moment, but would come a day when the railroad was back, no doubt about that.

"Nick? You with me?"

Nick flinched and glared. "I heard you, McCall," he said, louder than he'd meant. "That all?"

McCall gave him a slow nod. "Yep, reckon so. You want --"

"Just do your job," Nick said, and strode to the bunkhouse door. Outside the weather was fair, pretty as a picture, and he scowled. He could not remember anything the foreman had said, and the knowledge flustered him.

He sought refuge in the office at the main barn. This time of day, weren't too many folks about, and he needed time to think. Time to clear his mind. The blond boy -- Heath, he thought, what sort of a name is that -- had gotten him all turned around, angry and suspicious and a few other things Nick didn't care to examine too closely, and he needed to find his focus once more.

The desk was cluttered with papers, invoices, the horseshoe that had fallen off the doorway two weeks ago. Had hit Jenkins on the head on its way down, and cowboys were a superstitious lot; no one wanted to put it back up, McCall included, for fear of bad luck rubbing off on their fingers. Nick pushed the rough iron to the side and sighed. Damn thing had probably come down not too long before Heath showed up, come to think of it. Maybe McCall was right, maybe their luck had run out when this horseshoe fell.

But they'd won against Crown's gang, and if luck hadn't played a part in that Nick wasn't a Barkley.

Some folk practiced an old kind of witchcraft up in the hills. Maybe Heath's mother had been one of those. Couldn't think of any other reason why the rest of Nick's family hadn't struggled so hard with accepting him. Offering him a room in the house, just as easy as you would a long-lost relative come from back East to stay a while! It just didn't figure.

Might be witchcraft working on Nick right now. Had to be, since he couldn't get those blue eyes out of his mind. The sight of him in that hard bunkhouse bed, naked and pretty as a Greek statue.

He scowled again and laid his hands flat on the desk. It just wouldn't do. Maybe the boy was Father's byblow, maybe he wasn't, but there was just something about him that didn't sit right, didn't feel normal. Didn't matter what it was. The boy had to go, and that was that.

Voices outside made him look up. Dietrich's bass rumble, and a lighter voice, insolent and sweet to the ears like taffy. Heath, then. Nick swallowed and went to the office door to look.

"Come on now," said Dietrich, a smile in his voice. "Ain't nobody around to see."

"Nobody but me," came Heath's reply. The two were standing down the aisle, near one of the empty stalls. Heath's face was drawn in a frown, his back turned to Dietrich. "And I got work to do. Best be doing it."

"Plenty of time for work. Later." Dietrich was taller than Heath, Nick saw, taller and heavier, and something prickled down Nick's spine, a whisper of reluctant alarm. They did not see him. "Just thought we could get to know each other a little better, that's all."

Now Heath did turn, smirking. "That all? Mister, I ain't got time for what you're thinking."

"Now how do you know that?" Dietrich was crowding him now, herding him into that open stall. "Won't take all that long."

He put a hand to Heath's waist, and Heath flinched away. His fists were clenched. "It ain't like that," he said in a low angry whisper. "Don't make me fight you."

He was a good fighter, Nick thought distantly, but he would not prevail over Dietrich. He wondered if Heath knew it, too. "No call for that," said Dietrich, and gave a laugh that cut Nick's skin like a knife. "Just being friendly, that's all."

Nick drew back into the office, breathing heavily. Had to stop this, any man would. He heard Dietrich's laugh, Heath's bitten-off curse, and drew a deep breath. "Heath? That you out there?"

A beat, and then he strode out, aware that his heart was hammering in his chest. The two men now stood well distanced from each other, and both watched him alertly. No sign that they'd been grappling only a couple of seconds before. Heath's shirt, Nick saw, had come partly untucked.

"You two just standing around waiting for the weather to change?" Nick said loudly. He lifted his chin. "Work to be done!"

"Yessir, Mr. Barkley," Dietrich said, and cut a fast look in Heath's direction before ducking out the door.

Heath's face was scarlet, but he smirked anyway, meeting Nick's look and not saying a word.

"Well?" Nick asked. "You got something to say?" Like thank you? he thought grimly.

"Nope." Heath did not bother tucking his shirt in. His gaze lingered on Nick for a moment, and then he turned, walking hipshot down the aisle of the barn to the rear exit. Nick watched him go, mouth dry, and could not name the feelings jostling for space in his breast.

* * *

After that, though, he kept an eye out. He watched Heath when the boy didn't know he was watching, alert for Dietrich to make another move, or any one of the other cowpokes. Told himself it was concern, for Heath -- Barkley or not -- was a pretty boy, and although no one spoke of it openly, it was no real secret that there were doings from time to time amongst the hired men of the ranch. Nick liked to think that they hired good men, hired those who would not stoop to coercing what was not offered freely, but Dietrich had not been the only hand to notice the disputed new Barkley was in his own way as pretty as Audra herself, and far more available.

What Nick could not quite ignore was the other sensation he felt, watching Heath, watching others watch him. That surge he felt, hot and angry, that was nothing more or less than jealousy. Those rough men, touching that fine skin -- he could not abide it.

The night of Dietrich's assault on Heath, Nick lay awake in his bed, glaring at the ceiling. Boy was family, supposedly, and although he didn't feel it, he assumed he would one day. Protectiveness, that's all it was. Even if he had trouble accepting the idea of that blood relationship, no one treated a Barkley in that fashion, even a disputed one. It wasn't done.

But the following morning he saw the boy jawing with Pete Driscoll, saw that flash of a brilliant grin and the way Driscoll's eyes shone with admiration, and there was no other explanation for why Nick immediately wanted to wring Driscoll's scrawny neck.

Boy could cut a swath through the men, if he chose to, and maybe even if he didn't. It was unbearable.

After that he tried to keep Heath with him instead, working alongside, where he could keep an eye on him. Not Nick's job to always keep Heath's admirers from getting too close, no, but it made him feel better.

What did not, was knowing, more and more surely, that it was not only protection that motivated him. And that the closer he kept Heath to him, the darker his own impulses became.

"I don't need a babysitter," Heath finally snapped, after they'd worked elbow-to-elbow all morning at a repair job that only required one. "What are you looking for, Nick? Think I'm gonna steal from you? Lie down on the job? Want to see that I ain't Barkley enough for you?"

It was nearly noon, and hot, and they had both shed their shirts more than an hour before. Now Nick looked at Heath, the flush of exertion and anger pink in his cheeks, and blue eyes sparking annoyance. Something pulled deep in Nick's belly, an ache like ague, and his hands itched to move. To push, to shove, to touch.

"You got a problem with us working together," he said instead, "then boy, we really do have problems. It's called teamwork, or didn't they teach you about that up there in Strawberry?"

Heath's expression darkened. "That what this is?"

"What'd you think it was?"

He was watching Heath close, and so he did not miss the flare of the boy's nostrils, the way his eyes flickered down and then up again. "Nothing," Heath muttered, although his color was still high. "Sun's getting to me."

With a deep thrill that started in his loins, Nick grinned. "Sun, huh? That's all it is?"

"What else would it be?" Heath turned, showing an expanse of tanned, freckled back. Well muscled and gleaming with good clean sweat.

Throat dry, Nick leaned a hip against the fence. "I don't know, boy. How about you tell me?"

Heath didn't reply, just shrugged into his shirt.

Unsure if it was relief or disappointment in his veins, Nick said, "About time for dinner anyway. Come on."

He was not hungry, not for food, and even Silas's good cooking did not tempt him. Heath was silent at the table, watching his plate and nothing else, and when he ducked away Nick followed.

He's your brother, he thought while he shadowed Heath outside, across the yard and over to the smaller of the two barns. He is your blood, if only half, and whatever you're feeling it isn't right. It didn't stop him, going into the barn, seeing that no one was around, he and the boy were alone.

Heath turned in the aisle, looked back. His face was tight and bore no expression Nick could read. "Still following me? Ain't you tired of that yet?"

Nick stood very still. "Making sure Dietrich doesn't get you cornered again," he said.

"Him?" He saw realization flicker over Heath's features. Surprise, uneasiness. "I got his number. Ain't gonna happen again."

"You all that sure? Ever happened to you before?"

Heath looked away. "You really want to know?"

"Yes," Nick declared, stepping forward. "I think I do."

"Don't much matter. I can handle it."

When Heath moved away Nick followed, helpless to stop himself. Angrily he said, "You shouldn't have to. Now that you got brothers."

"Brothers?" Heath gave a sharp caw of a laugh, shaking his head. "You ain't my brother, Nick. Not yet."

"If I'm not your brother then what am I?" Nick asked, drawing closer.

"You tell me. Man I got to work with, the boss. What else?"

This close he could smell Heath, hay and sweat and musk, and his throat felt tight when he said, "Not sure."

Heath did not twitch away when Nick touched his waist, felt muscle tense and expectant beneath his fingers. "You aren't either," Nick said hoarsely. "When I saw you with Dietrich, I."

"What?" Heath asked quietly, unmoving.

"Wanted to punch his lights out," Nick managed. "For daring. Turn around."

Heath did, not meeting Nick's eyes, and drew a breath when Nick's hands circled his waist. "Can't," Heath whispered. "It ain't right, and you know it."

"Then stop me," Nick ground out, and tightened his grip. "Stop me, damn you."

Heath looked up then, showing eyes dark with confusion and heat, and without thinking Nick kissed his mouth.

Hands pushed his shoulders, hard, and Nick staggered back, watching Heath retreat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ain't kissing you," he spat, oofing when his back met the wall. "I ain't your sweetheart."

"Well, what are you then," Nick growled.

"Not that." Heath turned away, and Nick grabbed his arm, met with Heath's immediate struggle.

"I'm not Dietrich," Nick snapped.

"No, you're worse," Heath said, eyes wild. He took another defensive step back, hands raised. "A whole lot worse."

"Well, it sure as hell isn't me giving those come-hither looks!"

"I ain't!"

"Are, too," Nick said, advancing, and grinning when Heath flushed deeper. "Ever since that bridge, you've been eyeing me like a boy at a lollipop in a candy store. What do you want? Huh? If it wasn't Dietrich, what?"

"Dunno what you're talking about," Heath said. He grunted when Nick pushed him up against the wall. Chest heaving, he met Nick's gaze stubbornly.

"I reckon it's this," Nick said, and slid his hand between Heath's legs.

The tendons in Heath's neck stood out when he gasped, and he did not pull away. Nick grinned, gave him another squeeze. "That's more like it," he whispered, feeling the glee fizzing in his head. "This what you had in mind after all? Boy?"

"Stop calling me that," Heath said, barely audible.

"Now what am I gonna call you then? Not brother, not yet, and you aren't a sweetheart, and if not a boy -- then what?" He pushed forward until their bodies were aligned, listening to Heath's fast breathing. "I can think of a few things."

Heath stiffened and struggled, and let out a yelp when Nick's hand tightened. "Admit it," Nick said harshly. "Admit it, damn it!"

Instead of answering Heath bucked his hips, rubbing against him like a cat, and gave a sudden, angry grin. "Nothing worse than you," he whispered. "Ain't that so."

"You little --"

"You gonna jaw all day or you gonna get to it," Heath said, insolent.

Inside his tan miner's jeans Nick's fingers found hard heat, and he stroked him with furious intent, eagerly watching Heath's face contort, blue eyes flickering half-shut. His hands came up to push Nick's shoulders, not hard, clawing at his shirt.

"Definitely a come-hither look," Nick whispered. He bent his head and bit at Heath's corded neck, and Heath grunted a curse and spilled in Nick's hand, hips jerking.

Then the boy was slithering out of his grip, down, and Nick let him open his own trousers, show him how hard he was. Thought, How many times have you knelt for a man, how much time have you spent on your knees. But didn't say it, just watched that shining gold hair, petted it with his clean other hand and gritted his teeth while Heath freed him and put himself to the task. His tongue, slick and warm, and then the hot embrace of his mouth taking Nick inside.

Groaning, Nick braced his hands against the wall, arched his hips, and felt Heath gripping his hips, the rustle of hay in the stall while they moved together. "Christ almighty," Nick gasped, and felt Heath swallow him deep, a muffled chuckle that moved through him like an earthquake through solid land. Nick turned and bit his own arm, stifling his cry while the heat swelled in his loins, crested and fell.

Heath slid back up, not bothering to tuck him back in, and showed his flushed face, lips wet. Met Nick's eyes with that curious mix of brazen and cautious, and said, voice throaty, "Maybe you best think which was wanting which to come hither."

When he ducked away, Nick did not follow. Leaned against the wall and put himself to rights, listening to Heath's boots on the hard barn floor, vanishing. He closed his eyes and swallowed.

END


End file.
